Flatline
by RuthieTudor
Summary: Set after Wilson's Heart. Cuddy watches her whole world fall apart after Amber's death. House is still hospitalized. Wilson has fallen into a depression. The world doesn't seem the same anymore.
1. Guilty Conscience

A/N: This chapter is really short. It was originally written just to be displayed on LiveJournal but I decided to post it here too. The next chapters are longer, I promise. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Pinky swear!

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My mother once told me that I would never benefit from the relationships I participate in. I am constantly forced to face guilt over the decisions I make. I am easily won over and I have a hard time saying no. If I do say no, then I make myself feel bad. It's a horrible circle and it's all I could think about as I waited for things to go back to normal.

The first thing I woke up to was the ache in my back from being curled in the awful hospital chair for hours. The next thing I felt was the hand in mine. It took me a minute to realize where I was and what was going on. Normally, that would be terribly out of character for a person such as myself but, with all the shock and exhaustion from the last few days, I wasn't surprised.

I stirred as softly as possible and moved everything except my right arm, not wanting to wake him from the sleep he desperately needed. He'd woken a couple of times already. Once to me and I know at least once to Wilson. I know he was going to be completely heartbroken over Wilson's reaction towards him. I just kept telling myself that the best thing I could do right now is be strong for both of them.

I sat there, holding House's hand, staring through the wall, and listening to my stomach beg for attention. I almost felt like I was the one who was hit by the bus. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn't I stop him? Why did I let him do the deep brain stimulation? He could have died and it would have been my fault.

There I go with the guilt again. I shook my head at oncoming tears and checked House's monitors. All was stable and his breathing was regular. I figured I could get out for a potty break and a trip to the snack machine without missing much. The nurses knew to page me.

I slipped my hand gently from his and stood. Without warning he rolled violently, almost pulling out his IV, and yelled, "Amber!"

I gently pushed him back to the center of the bed and tried to comfort him, leaning down next to him with my hand on his shoulder and whispering, "It's okay House. Everything is okay."

His face relaxed and his breathing slowed down. I relaxed too, hoping that did the trick. I stood at the foot of his bed for a hundred years, too afraid to walk out of the room. I know it wasn't a hundred years but my brain made it seem as though it was. My whole body ached and my stomach wouldn't stop growling.

When I had satisfied my conscience that everything was okay, I made my way out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, passing nurses and other staff on my way. They all gave me sympathetic looks and I found myself wanting to slap them all. How dare they pity me. I wasn't the one they were supposed to be pitying.

After finishing my trips to the bathroom and snack machine, respectively, I ate my cheese crackers outside of House's room. He hadn't moved since I'd left, thank goodness, and his vitals were the same.

A steady rain was falling outside and, when I thought to glance out of the window, I decided the weather was appropriate for my mood. I didn't feel like talking, or eating, or sleeping, or doing anything really. Especially not working, which is why I was avoiding my office all together. I had sent out a memo to all departments warning them that I would be out of the office for a few days and to only contact me if it was an emergency. I laughed quietly to myself at that thought. House would have been to my office at least twice by now with 'emergencies' of his own. To him, nearly every procedure constituted as an emergency.

After finishing my sorry excuse for a lunch, I went back into House's room and picked up his chart. I fixed his morphine and turned it up a bit. With the head injury, the deep brain stimulation, and the infarction, House had to be in a lot of pain. He wasn't near the morphine threshold yet so I decided it was alright to give him a little more.

"Cuddy?"


	2. Taking Sides

A/N: See? Longer! At least longer than 1,000 words. :S Review please!

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

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"I didn't know where to go."

We were sitting in my office, of all places. This was the one place in the hospital that I was trying to avoid and it was the first place I thought of when he asked if we could talk.

"Of course we can." I'd said, hoping he'd ask me what I thought about the upcoming election or the rising prices of milk. He'd glanced at House and the look on his face told me everything and more. So here we were. Me, sitting in the chair, and Wilson, sitting on the couch. Any other time and I wouldn't have suspected a thing.

I was stretching a hair band to death with my thumbs and he was watching with a look of sad sympathy. I wondered if he was sympathetic for the hair band or sympathetic for me. I'd be sympathetic for the hair band too. It was taking a lot of abuse.

"How is House?" He wouldn't make eye contact but I knew he was there. I commended him for coming to me. Something told me he thought I was taking sides. I needed to fix that.

"The same. Not any worse." I stretched the elastic one last time and let it snap loudly against my palm. I absently wondered why I was fidgeting so much. I never acted this way.

"How are you?" I think we said it at the same time and we looked at each other sheepishly. He was blushing and I was smiling sadly. I didn't respond and I waited for some clue from him.

There was nothing for a long time and I wondered if he was doing the same thing to me. I was about to say something when I noticed that, not only wouldn't he make eye contact with me, he wouldn't stop staring at the floor. He was trying not to cry.

"James, if you need time-"

"I'm considering resigning." The words hit the ground before I could suggest maybe going to see his family or some close friends out of town. My eyebrows shot up into my hairline and I fought to keep from getting angry.

I took a deep breath before saying anything, "I understand why you think it would be a good idea but I don't think-"

"I don't know if I can do this, Lisa." He hadn't called me by my first name since that one date we'd gone on years ago. I admit, it floored me.

"It takes time. You just have to give it time." I wanted to stand up and shout at him, shake him, slap him. Tell him that my best doctor was in the ICU because of him. Tell him that, because of his bad decisions, he almost killed his best friend. Every fiber of my being was telling me to scream at the top of my lungs. I didn't.

"I know." He was silent after that and I wondered if I should try to console him or let him brood. We sat there for a while and I bounced between trying to decide what to say and letting him have his inner battle.

"I don't know what to do." It was so small. The tiniest voice out of the most secure man I've ever met. I couldn't believe that this was James Wilson sitting in front of me.

"I don't either." That was the truth. I didn't. All I could find the energy to do was sit and stare. I was surprised if I got enough food in a day.

"Does it get easier?" He was looking at me but I think it was more looking through me. I looked up and I could feel the wetness running down my cheeks before I knew I was crying.

"Yeah, it does. It will." He sighed but I could see the gratefulness in his eyes.

We sat that way for a long time. The silence was awkward at first and then it became consuming, until it was comfortable. Forty-five minutes passed with us sitting there, staring and silent, until my beeper suddenly went off and I noticeably jumped. James looked at his watch and then looked surprised. He must have been losing time lately.

I checked my beeper and started to panic. It was the ICU. I had to calm myself down before I called so I didn't scream at one of the nurses on the other end.

"Dr. House is awake and he's asking for you, quite loudly. You might want to get up here soon, before he upsets Rebecca and she puts him back into a coma."

Wilson was still sitting on my couch when I turned back around. He'd heard my side of the conversation and knew it wasn't a severe emergency. When he saw the look on my face, his contorted.

"House is awake." It wasn't a question.

"Fully. He's asking for me. You should come up too." I clipped my beeper back onto my pocket and grabbed my white coat off the hook.

Wilson stood behind me, "Not now. Maybe later."

I turned around and looked at him again. I took a minute to really look and I wasn't surprised. He looked just as bad and I thought he would. I slipped my coat on and tried to smile at him again. It's hard to be encouraging when you're angry at the person you're trying to encourage.

"Don't be afraid to come to me again, James. Unless you really are resigning, then you can be afraid." I paused and let go of a tiny sigh, "I'm always here and I'm not taking sides on this. I'm here for both of you."

He didn't respond. He simply looked up at me, gave me a tight lipped smile and a mumbled thanks, and sidestepped out of my door. I wasn't taking sides, but _he _was.


	3. Something Right

A/N: Please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own House or Cuddy or Morphine (Damnit!).

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I couldn't understand what the nurse on the phone had meant when I got up to House's room. Yes, he was awake but no, he wasn't throwing a fit.

"Hey there." I checked his chart like a good doctor but I already had it memorized, I didn't need to look at it, "How are you feeling?"

He didn't respond. I looked up from the clipboard and found him staring at me like he'd never seen me before, "House?"

"I've been better." His voice was strong for his condition but everything else about his body screamed 'I'm sick'. His normally cobalt blue eyes were gray and foggy, the lines on his face were so deep he looked like he was carved from rock, and his normally roguish facial hair had gone from bad to worse.

I put his chart back on the foot of his bed and crossed my arms, "We don't know if there's going to be any brain damage. You'll need to let us know if there's any memory loss or motor function loss. You seem to be okay though."

"It's the morphine." At least some of his old sense of humor hadn't been lost. I smirked at him and he smirked back.

I turned to leave, pretending to work even though I didn't want to, "I'm sure you'll let me know if you need anything."

"Cuddy."

I stopped, like people always do when called upon, and turned with my hand on the sliding door. I wasn't smiling anymore. I wasn't being the good doctor anymore.

"Don't go."

In any story, when a person is told to stay, they stay. This story isn't different and I'll stay, sure. But the emotions I'm feeling aren't the same as any story. House doesn't ask for help. House doesn't ask for a shoulder. House doesn't need help. House doesn't _need_ a shoulder.

So who is this?

I walked back to his bed and sat back in the chair. What else was I supposed to do? It was silent and he stared at the ceiling. We sat like that for another hundred years. He stared at the ceiling and I stared at him. I memorized him like I'd memorized his chart. He knew I was staring but I don't think he cared. I remembered, years and years ago, in college actually, telling him that I'd always be there for him. That I'd always be there to hold his hand. He'd laughed at me and called me overly romantic.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hand was back in his and I was reliving that moment in college all over again. I wondered if he remembered.

"…and so I told the guy, 'You want your money? You go find Allen. He'll pay you the money.'" That was my voice but I didn't know what I was saying, "I think I'm dreaming."

"Cuddy?" It was an earthquake. I was in an earthquake on the east coast of the United States and I was going to die. I was shaking violently and I must have been in a closet. It was dark and a tight fit, my shoulders were touching the sides. Why was I in a closet?

"Cuddy!" I woke up. I was sitting in the chair in House's office. House was standing in front of me, Cameron behind him with a sheepish look on her face.

"Good lord! You sleep like the dead! In fact, I thought you were dead. I was beginning to mourn the loss of the best rack I've ever seen." He stepped back while I woke up. He was right to step back. He knew I was going to explode once I fully woke up.

"Where have you been? I've been waiting for you for twenty minutes. You have clinic duty!" I stood up and tried to smooth down my hair, and my somewhat bruised ego.

"More like an hour and a half-"

"House!" I jolted awake and he tried to grab my arm to keep me from falling out of the chair. We were still holding hands, though it was more like grabbing hands now.

"Wet dream?"

I rubbed my forehead with my left hand and scowled at him from underneath it. He squeezed my right one and I felt the message. He was sorry I'd had a nightmare.

When I was done waking up, he looked over at me, "You caught me in a curious mood and I just woke up myself. What was your dream about?"

I contemplated telling him and decided against it. After all, I didn't know myself, "I can't really remember. It was dark and I thought there was an earthquake and someone kept yelling my name and then I woke up."

"What a buzz kill." He didn't press the issue and I silently thanked him.

I looked at my watch and gawked. It was nearly dinner time and all I'd had to eat today was a small bag of cheese crackers. I couldn't believe I'd slept so soundly for so long.

I looked over and House and he looked back at me expectantly, "I need to go order you some food, otherwise you won't get any."

"No need, I'll come downstairs with you." He actually sat up and I laughed at him.

"Oh no! You lay back down. I'm not letting you out of this bed until you're in peak physical condition. The last time I let you go walking around after an injury, you went into cardiac arrest and almost died." I stood up and put a hand on his chest, forcing him to lay back down. He wasn't strong enough to fight me yet. He knew he wasn't going to leave the room yet, he was just testing me to see how far he could get.

"I did die." I gave him a look and he gave it right back. I rolled my eyes at him and thought for a second. I needed to come up with a compromise, otherwise I'd be in here all night arguing.

"Alright, what if I brought us both food up here?" I looked down at him hopefully and he looked positive.

"You know what I want." His eyes said something I couldn't understand but I did understand the words.

"Yeah." I started to walk out the door, checking my pockets for money.

He called out to me before I could make it all the way, "And get me some of those mashed potatoes they make."

"Okay." I threw it over my shoulder and pulled the sliding door open I stepped threw and turned around to slide it shut again, looking at him one last time.

"And a Sprite!" He yelled at me with a childish look on his face that made me laugh out loud. I nodded at him and he smiled.

At least something was going right.


	4. Quality Television

A/N: Another short-ish chapter but worth reading. Thanks for the reviews. I've tried to respond to them all. So sorry if I forgot. Please keep reviewing and let me know I'm doing well!

Disclaimer: I made up the name of the knife company... otherwise... none of it is mine.

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My house was big and empty. It felt more like a dungeon then a neatly laid out home. Honestly, I had only come here because that's what everyone else did at nine o'clock at night. House had told me that if he had to watch me sleep for one more minute in that awful looking chair he'd have to knock some sense into me. I'd agreed to come home. He'd called me a hypocrite for forcing sleep on him and not getting any myself. I wasn't the one with the brain injury.

There was a small stack of mail in my mailbox and three newspapers on my doorstep. I threw the newspapers away and absently looked at the mail without reading it. They were all bills anyway, they always were.

I flipped the television to some infomercial and opened the bills, reading them and throwing them on the coffee table. When I was done with that I watched some airbrushed model chop asparagus with the precision only a set of Ford 2000 Knives could give you. I wondered what James was doing. I thought about calling him and then decided not to. I didn't know what to do with myself. My whole world was getting smaller.

Everything changes when someone dies. It doesn't even have to be someone close. After all, I didn't even know Amber. I had seen her quite a few times. She had come to me multiple times to try to get around House – or to try to suck up to him – and after being fired she had come to me as a mediator for her relationship with Wilson and Wilson's relationship with House. Amber and I had a sort of unspoken friendship after she stopped working for the hospital. I always sided with her on matters of the Wilson nature, since she was almost always right, and she kept coming to me every time. The only thing I could never figure out about her was what she really wanted. Then again, I'm sure she didn't really know either.

The phone rang and it scared me. I was jumpy lately. At least, jumpier than usual. I thought about letting the machine pick it up and then decided that it could be an emergency and that I should probably answer it. The only people I knew who called me after nine o'clock were my sister and House, and I was pretty sure House wasn't going to be calling me.

"Hello?"

"Lisa! How are you?" It was my sister. How did I guess? It must be her uncanny way of being able to tell when I am most miserable and then coming around to spread her disgusting cheer.

"I'm okay, Melissa, how are you?" It wasn't that I didn't love my sister. I just didn't love the way she liked to spread her joy in my face.

"Oh, we're doing alright. Just making it, I'm afraid. Adam lost his job, his company went under." Melissa had the perfect life, really. She had two kids, an engineer husband, a dog, and a two story house in the suburbs. Well, it was the perfect life for someone.

"That's too bad. I'm sure he'll get back on his feet." I don't think I was really listening to her. The model was still cutting vegetables but this time it was with a bigger knife. She looked excited. The model, that is. I'd be excited too if all I had to do was cut vegetables all day.

"You sound tired, Lise. Did I call too late? You know I'm terrible with the time difference. You really should come visit us in California. You'd love it here and Jack is dying to see you again. He's completely obsessed with that anatomy book you sent him. He idolizes you." Jack was her eight year old son. Jack wanted to be a doctor like aunt Lisa. I hoped to God Jack realized my mistake before he became a doctor like me.

"It's just been a long couple of days, no problem. I'm glad Jack likes the book. He'll have to come out here so I can show him the hospital." My sister hated the east coast and I could already hear the venom before it even appeared in her voice.

"Oh, I don't know Lisa. You know, all those bad things happen out there. Ever since nine eleven. I just can't imagine taking my children to that part of the country. I don't know how you live there." Sometimes, Melissa made me want to vomit.

"Somehow, I manage." I flipped the television to a different channel, the news was on and a building was on fire. This was quality television.

"Well let me know when you can take a vacation. We'd really like to see you." Melissa was tired of talking to the disappointment of the family. Hell, I was tired of living with the disappointment.

"I definitely will. You know how hard it is to get time off, being the dean. But I'll let you know as soon as I do." I wondered how many fires a fireman – or firewoman, I guess – has to put out in a day. I wonder if I put out more proverbial fires than they do.

"Alright, well, I just wanted to call to see how you were. I had a feeling that things weren't good but I guess I was wrong." She paused and I could swear she was caring – maybe not, "You call us if you need anything, okay?"

"I will, Mel. I promise." I thought about crossing my fingers like a child would. I felt childish with everyone worrying and fussing over me. Even the man in the hospital bed was telling me to get some sleep.

"Alright, I'll talk to you soon. Love 'ya sis." I heard a child yell in the background and I envied her. I wanted her life, more than usual.

"You too. Bye." I hung up before she said goodbye and tossed the phone down on the couch.

I should have let the machine get it.


	5. Hold Tight

A/N: I wrote this one a bit differently. It might be hard to follow. It's in a more stream of consciousness style. Let me know if it's just _too_ hard to read and I'll try to fix it.

I wrote this while listening to 'Breathe Me' by Sia and 'Run' by Snow Patrol. If you want some mood music, there are your songs. They're both wonderful and they both fit House (and this chapter) perfectly.

Disclaimer: I own Nurse Elizabeth. She likes long walks on the beach and dark chocolate. You can borrow her if you want. Please bring her back in relative good quality though. I hate trying to refurbish used nurses. You know?

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Guilt has a funny way of gnawing at a person. Forcing you to relive the same event over and over again. In dreams, in reality – even in the tiny moments you used to relish as 'relaxing'. You take a deep breath and there you are again. Nine years younger, longer hair, paler skin, less sunken. There you are, taking away a quarter of a person. You open your eyes, breathe again, then blink. Suddenly you're picking that person up off the floor. Lights flash behind your eyes but all you can think about is the blood around your feet and the man leaning on you and losing consciousness. Blink again, Lisa. This time, it isn't a memory. This time, it's happening. There he is, back in the bed, and there you are, guilty as charged.

"He's doing a lot better, Dr. Cuddy."

Of course he's doing a lot better. He'll always be doing a lot better. Or, at least, he'll always look like he's doing a lot better. What about the scars you can't see? How do you treat those?

"Thanks, Elizabeth."

Nurses had an uncanny way of making me nervous. How could they possibly be so happy when the highlight of their job was cleaning up vomit – or other, more unsavory, fluids?

She left and there I was again. Alone and rotting. Maybe rotting is the wrong word. My insides certainly felt rotted. Maybe that was the guilt. It wasn't gnawing, it was rotting.

"…any brain damage?"

I couldn't stop staring at him. He was sleeping. He'd woken up already once and spoken to me. Hell, he'd eaten in front of me. Why was I feeling this way?

I shook my head and water flew in both directions. Great, I was crying again.

"Dr. Cuddy?" Dr. Chase put his hand on my arm and I shook it off. Why was I acting this way?

"I'm fine, sorry." I turned to him, ripping my eyes from the sleeping House, and forced a teary smile at my head of surgery.

"I just wanted to check in." He took a step back. The look in his eyes was panicky. He was worried about me but he didn't want to push it. I didn't blame him. I was afraid of me too.

Time is not a fixed thing when trauma is involved. I guess I hadn't really realized that until I found myself sitting in the chair in House's ICU room and I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there.

"You look like shit, Cuddy."

I wasn't even looking at him. I was staring at his heart monitor, watching the blips pass on the screen and listening to the quiet beeps. Listening for signs of life.

"Cuddy?"

I was reminded of that song, the one that House had quoted to me years ago. You can't always get what you want. This definitely wasn't what I wanted. I wondered if it was actually possible for me to get what I needed this time.

"Cuddy!"

I finally looked at him, blank and cold, and he was shocked. Concern crossed his face and lingered there for a long time. I didn't really notice. It was out of character for him. I should have noticed.

"Cuddy, what is wrong with you? You're acting like the living dead."

House was right. I felt like the living dead. What _was_ wrong with me? Why couldn't I pull it together and mend all of the cracks? That was my job, after all.

"I'm fine." My voice was loud. Too loud for the room we were in.

"You're not fine." He was serious. Too serious for the person he was.

I stared at him, through him. I glared at him. I didn't want him to tell me how I felt. I didn't feel bad. I felt fine. I _was_ fine.

"I'm _fine_!" My voice hitched, "I'm not –" My whole body hitched in a sob that felt as though it tore my whole soul out. I couldn't breathe for all the panicking and all I could see was everything I'd ever done wrong to him. I'd destroyed his quality of life and taken his leg. I'd helped place a wedge between him and the love of his life. And now, I'd allowed him to destroy his relationship with his best friend.

Before I could gather myself and become the Cuddy I always was at work, I felt him grab my arm and pull me, hard. I opened my eyes and saw him, through the thick fog of tears, sitting on the side of the bed. He'd ripped off most of the wires holding him down and I could hear the alarms in the back of my mind. Mostly, all I could hear were my own, gut wrenching, sobs.

He yanked me out of the chair with surprising force and into his arms before I could resist. I sobbed there, for a lifetime, sitting on his hospital bed, my face buried in his chest. He didn't say anything, didn't try to comfort me with words. He just tightened his grip on me and rested his chin on my head. The alarms got louder, or maybe that was my brain playing tricks on me, and my sobs calmed down.

Once I'd quieted down to the soft rain of silent tears, he held me away from him for a minute. He stared at me, and I felt uncomfortable. He always had the most amazing ability to shake me, no matter how numb I felt on the outside.

"You can't do this to yourself, Lisa." He wiped my cheek with the palm of his hand and I looked down at the bed. I couldn't take his eyes studying me anymore. I didn't want to be the puzzle this time.

He took a hold of my chin with the still damp hand he'd used to brush my cheek and forced me to look up again, "I'm okay, Wilson will be okay," That honest concern crossed his face and this time, I did notice, "when are you going to worry about Cuddy?"

I shook my head and tried to look away but he wasn't letting go. I wondered if he was trying to prove something. He stared me down for a second and then he did let go, allowing me to look away. I couldn't keep looking at him, though I tried.

House was still studying me, but I'd gained control of my emotions and was now trying to gain control of my surroundings. The alarms were still going off and I wondered why no one had come yet. I looked out the door and my question was answered.

Wilson was there, a stony look on his face. Everything in me sunk to my shoes. Everything that had been somewhat uplifted by House's comfort and pep talk was now completely destroyed. Wilson was watching with a look of sad determination on his face.

I pushed away from House, his hands falling from my shoulders to rest in his lap. I stood and made for the door. I ran like a scared rabbit. I pushed past Wilson and he watched me go. I could feel his hard gaze follow me to the stairs and I could still feel it on my back even after I had rounded the corner.


	6. Stifling Heat

A/N: A little mini-chapter for your viewing pleasure. I couldn't let myself attach this to the previous chapter and I couldn't let myself add anything more at the end. So I just left it. Hopefully you'll forgive me, since I posted both this one and the previous tonight.

Mood Music: Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking - Snow Patrol

Disclaimer: I don't own _any_ of it and _boy_ does that piss me off.

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"You're in love with him!"

My office had been quiet and warm. A virtual cocoon of denial and silence. I had come in and sat down behind my desk and tried to shake off the horror of being caught in any sort of compromising position with Gregory House.

"James, you need to take some time off." I was trying to be the calm, realistic one. Honestly, I was about ready to pee my pants.

"There isn't any other explanation. At first, I thought you were spending so much time in there because you felt guilty. You always do, anyway. But then I started to really see. You love him!" Wilson was advancing on me and I felt like I needed to stand up in order to gain any sort of ground in this, obviously inappropriate, argument.

"I have no idea what you're talking about and I don't think you do either. Now, I can understand why you might feel this way but honestly, I am on no one's side and I don't see why I can't be on both sides here." I rounded the desk and pushed some renegade hair behind my ear. I hoped my calm façade would hold up under pressure.

"You can't be on two directly conflicting sides, Cuddy! You just can't. I thought I had a chance. I thought that if I had just one friend here, other than House, I might be able to make it." He threw an envelope down on my desk, "You're just like him. You're in this for yourself."

It felt like someone had turned on the stovetop below my feet. The room got suddenly hot and small and I could feel my nails biting into the palms of my hands.

"Dr. Wilson, you can _not_ make decisions about your career based on personal events. I will _not_ let you resign!" I wanted to stomp my foot. He was being immature about this. Or was it me that was being immature?

"It's too late now. This hospital became my personal life a long time ago. I can't separate them anymore." He turned to leave and I rounded on him, in full form.

"Why does it matter how I feel about House? What does that have to do with your job?" I put my hand on his shoulder to try to slow him down, I didn't want to take this into the clinic.

He turned with amazing speed and I almost fell down, "I hate him, Cuddy. I hate him for what he did to me. I know I shouldn't, but I do. And I hate you for loving him. I can't work around either of you. I can't."

"I don't love him, Wilson. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do, Cuddy. Think about it. Just – think about it."

He left. All that was left was a manilla envelope and the heat that I could still feel in my chest.

Me? Love House? That was laughable – right?


	7. You're Right

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. Here's chapter 7. Keep reviewing! ;)

Mood Music: Lost? - Coldplay

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

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Things were happening too quickly and I desperately needed to slow them down. My brain couldn't work at one-hundred miles per hour. Honestly, I couldn't understand how any person's brain could. I spent an hour and a half laying on the couch in my office, mentally throttling myself for the way I'd yelled at Wilson.

What kind of insensitive person yells at someone who's only just lost someone so important to a chance death? I handled the situation so poorly that I was loathe to call myself Lisa Cuddy anymore. The person I'd been acting like had definitely not been the person I was. The worst part was, I didn't have anything to blame. I couldn't blame grief, or stress, or anxiety, or anything else. I wasn't going through any of those – or I shouldn't have been.

I sat up and put my shoes on. I needed to go visit Dr. Wilson before he left for good. I knew where he'd be and I knew that if I didn't visit him now and set things right, I probably wouldn't get a chance to.

The walk up the stairs was a long one. House's office and adjoining conference room were empty and dark. His team had been sent to work in different departments until House had recovered. I stopped in front of his office for a minute and looked inside. For once, everything was peaceful. There was no brooding doctor inside and there was no miffed team waiting for permission to run a test. It was odd and unnerving.

I finally reached Wilson's door after what seemed like a walk across the Sahara. I knocked softly but there was no answer. Was I wrong? Had he just left without warning? Had he changed his mind?

I gently tried the door to find it unlocked, "Dr. Wilson?" My voice was loud in the thick silence of the room.

He was packing books into a box with a look on his face that warned me to go away. I wanted to go away. More than that, I wanted to run as fast as I could. I didn't.

"I wanted to apologize for yelling at you earlier. It was rude of me." I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. Leaning against it, my hand still on the knob in case of emergency.

He grunted and kept moving books, "I also wanted to let you know that I'm going to give you a month long leave of absence. It'll give you time to get things together and decide if you really want to resign or not." He stopped packing and looked like he wanted to argue, "It'll be paid, of course."

The books started going back in the box and I wondered what he wanted from me, "What do you want me to do, Dr. Wilson?" I was getting desperate, "You're the best oncologist in this hospital, I don't want to lose you."

He mumbled something I couldn't understand and kept packing, "What?"

"Admit it." He looked up at me and his eyes bored right through me, "Admit that you have feelings for House. That you've been cutting him breaks and giving him handouts, not because you feel guilty for his leg, but because you're in love with him."

I had never seen this side of Wilson before. He was angry, sure, but he was beyond that. It was a sort of venomous anger that spread throughout the room. It made the air seem thicker and the light seem darker. I felt like I was in a fifties horror movie.

I didn't say anything for a long time and, eventually, he gave up on me saying anything at all. He started moving things around on his desk again and I watched him.

"I don't understand." I decided that going with the truth was the best way to deal with this, "Why do my feelings for House matter so much?"

He threw a book down and the loud bang echoed through the room, making me jump and nearly cry out, "Because I'm tired of being in the middle of it! I'm tired of it, Cuddy, and it needs to end. You two are ridiculous!"

I took a step back and my voice got softer as I backed off, "Maybe you should talk to House-"

"He is no more guilty than you. You are the one who is constantly saying yes to his every whim. You allow him to practically stalk you without so much as a tap on the wrist and you'd let him get away with murder-"

"His reputation keeps this hospital-"

"Screw his reputation! You either love him or you don't, Cuddy. It isn't hard." He looked up at me and I paused. Taking my first real breath in, what felt like, five minutes.

I backed up until I was in line with his couch and I plopped down on it, letting my feet unload. My whole body ached like I'd run a marathon when really I hadn't done anything at all. I dropped my head into my hands and sulked, thinking about what Wilson was trying to prove. It was preposterous, really.

His tone lowered and I heard him stop packing, "Think about it, Lisa. Think about everything you've done for him. You've cut him a lot of breaks. Do you think you'd do that for any other doctor here?"

I thought for a second, "I think-"

I didn't need to think, not anymore. In one shining second, it was like someone had turned on the flashing sign. Hullo! There it was.

"I think you're right." I gulped, seriously gulped, "Shit, you're right."

He sat down in his desk chair, content to stop packing – since he wasn't leaving anymore anyway. He didn't say anything, he just looked at me. I looked up at him and we locked gazes for a second before I dropped mine again.

I sat in silence for a long time and I think he started to get a little impatient. I wondered if he expected me to jump up and run down to House, screaming, "I love you" at the top of my lungs. I certainly wasn't going to do that, no matter how out of character I was acting at the moment.

I looked back over to Wilson and he looked empathetic, "I don't know what to do."


End file.
